The Serpent
by ReadingBlueWolf
Summary: 10,000? That's all I'm worth? *Complete* -Clintasha-


_10,000? That's all I'm worth?_

The yellow parchment nailed to a pole he passed fluttered gently in the breeze. Adjusting his hood and guise, he snorted at the small amount of gold his head was worth. He had expected it to be a bit higher considering the amount of gold he'd '_earned_'—and willingly gave to those less fortunate.

His slow gait—helped by a faux limp—took him towards crowded stands full of nobles cheering, and a large open range. Once he reached the clearing, the breeze increased, causing the summer grass to sway lazily back and forth.

_That'll make the competition a little more challenging for those less skilled._ He smirked and eyed the targets lining the field furthest from the stands. In the center was a bull's-eye, impossible to hit—well, _nearly_ impossible_._

As he limped toward the other participants gathered—thirty including him—he glanced up to where the royal party sat. He recognized the coward king—robed in velvet with large rings and an oversized crown— that let his nation starve.

Curled around the coward's shoulders sat a large emerald-green python, gently hissing in his ear—its golden-yellow eyes watching every participant that entered. He knew the traitor was looking for him, seeking for him with every breath that ran across that forked tongue.

Despite the coward prancing around as king, it was truly the large serpent that ruled the kingdom. Every word spoken was dictated by it, every mandate its idea; it used the coward as a scapegoat in case the day came when his reign fell. All blame would be on the coward, and it could slither away quietly into the dark night.

He felt his nails dig into the palm of his hand as he took steadying breaths. If it wouldn't give away his position, he would shoot the snake here, from a hundred yards away. That serpent had almost cost him his life on more than one occasion before it latched onto the coward king—he should have known then what a traitor that python truly was.

His attention finally moved to the maiden that was seated next to them. Her green eyes cautiously watched over the gathered participants as her fingers gripped the wooden throne on which she sat. A strand of dark red hair had escaped its confines from her shawl and blew gently in the breeze.

He had only met her thrice and on none of those occasions had they ever exchanged names. But when she looked at him with those enchanting green eyes, he was lost to her cause.

Every participant here today was gathered for her. The coward had proclaimed that whoever could complete his challenge would win his niece's hand in marriage. It was a ruse—thought up by the traitor—to lure him out from his dark hiding places and it had worked. He was smitten with her, but his reason for appearing today was not in the challenge to win her hand. No, he wanted more. He had come for the snake.

As the first competitor took his place, he watched the man's aim shake slightly. A smirk formed on his lips as the man fired, missed, and was immediately disqualified. The second contestant fared no better as his shot went wide, landing in the woods beyond.

By the time his turn came, only eight had qualified for the second round. He hobbled to the range and pulled his bow off his shoulders. His rough fingers gently caressed the wood and string. His oldest friend was once again going to help him out. He took the arrow offered to him—precautions had been taken so that a contestant didn't cheat—and weighed it in his hand. It was a bit lighter than he would have preferred, but it was acceptable. He placed the notch in his string and pulled back as he brought the bow up. The arrow was slightly curved to the right.

With the breeze and the defect in the arrow, he made his adjustments accordingly and let the arrow fly. It hit the white circle just outside the red bull's-eye. _Perfect._ He smirked as the announcement came he had passed into the second round.

The next round of arrows were shot from a point ten feet further from the starting point. Three more people were disqualified, leaving six remaining. In the third round—after a movement of another fifteen feet back—four remained. In the fourth round—two more had been axed out, leaving him and a man he had come to suspect was a guard for the coward and traitor.

The behemoth of a man hadn't been obvious at first; he had seemed like another average archer. However, the way he peered at everyone from beneath that scruffy caterpillar brow of his had been cause for suspicion. In the middle of the second round, he had 'accidently' tripped and pushed down a contestant who could have very well been wearing disguise. During the third round, the man had glanced towards a few of the guards who had tried to subtly nod at him in return. The man had snapped a bow in half during the fourth round, claiming it had been altered.

_So much for subtly…_ He grimaced; knowing if the man had broken _his_ bow there would be hell to pay.

As they entered the fifth and final round, the man was inching closer and closer to him. He suspected the man's attack would be as soon as the round was over. The man stepped up to the line and let off an arrow. The crowd gasped as it hit the outer edge of the target. Roaring in anger, the man snapped his own bow in half, chucking it across the field and stalking off to the sidelines.

A brow rose. _Okay… Maybe he wasn't a guard._

He took his place on the line and took the arrow offered to him. After sizing and weighing it, he strung his bow again and aimed. He lined his sight up and closed his eyes. A deep breath filled his lungs. As he exhaled slowly, he knew hell would break lose as the arrow raced for his target.

Silence enveloped the area as he heard the arrow connect with a _jab_. When he opened his eyes, he was met with the pleasant sight of the arrow protruding from the red bull's-eye. He allowed himself to smirk before he heard the guards yelling to seize him. Pulling back his hood, he glanced up at the shocked golden-yellow eyes and smirked. With a nod he turned and dashed forward, sprinting for the woods.

Loud screams from the crowd caught his attention. He skidded to a halt five feet from the safety of the trees. Looking back, he watched the stands go up in flames; the guards' attention momentarily distracted by the fire. His jaw dropped as his thoughts turned toward the maiden. He moved to return to save her, when a hand grabbed his arm. He gasped and turned.

There stood two enchanting green eyes watching him with a smirk on soft pink lips. _Her_ figure was now dressed in an outfit similar to his own—hunting boots, a cloak, pants and a tunic. _When did she change?_

"Hello, stranger." The words rolled off her tongue like the summer breeze through the leaves.

He nodded. "Ma'am."

"Call me, Natasha."

He smiled. "Pleasure to meet you, Natasha. I'm Clint."

"Likewise, Clint."

"What can I do for you?"

"I've heard about the things you do and the places you go. Apparently, all for the '_greater good_'."

"I'm not fond of tyranny."

"Or following rules."

He smirked. "Well, I preferred the law under King Nicholas."

"Yes, Nicholas Fury was a kind ruler before he was called away to war—"

"_Forced_ away. Now, what can I do for you, m'lady?"

Her eyes looked towards the forest. "Show me the way?"

He glanced back towards the stands and saw the traitor slithering frantically over empty chairs toward the northern exit. He glanced at her as he reached for an arrow. In one swift motion, he strung and pulled up the bow. He aimed, and then turned his attention fully on her with a devious smile. His arm slightly inched to the north and he released the arrow. "Gladly."

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_Written as a giftfic for Sylvia. Thanks to Tiki and Ange for perusing this.  
_

**Disney's Robin Hood _might_ have played a role in inspiration.**

**This is the second story in The Fairytale Disarray series. For more information, to see the first, and for more fun things check out my profile.  
**

**Let me know what you think!**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


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